The Gypsy's Curse

by Sara Whitford

  The Gypsy’s Curse

  by Sara Whitford

  THE GYPSY’S CURSE

  Copyright © 2016 by Sara Whitford

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Edition.

  Copy edited by Marcus Trower.

  Get updates on Adam Fletcher’s Adventures.

  www.adamfletcherseries.com

  www.sarawhitford.com

  The Adam Fletcher Adventure Series

  The Smuggler’s Gambit

  Captured in the Caribbean

  Murder in the Marsh

  The Gypsy’s Curse

  More to come.

  For those who love to wonder and wander...

  Chapter One

  New Bern—Late February 1767

  ADAM FLETCHER LEANED IMPATIENTLY OVER the heavy wooden counter in James Davis’s printing shop. He had just been here a few months earlier, poring over archived issues of the Gazette in hopes of finding some clues related to the murder of one of his friends. Now he was glad to be here for a far more cheerful reason—to retrieve a letter that was waiting for him at the newspaper office. He had seen the notice in the Gazette back in December, but foul weather had kept him away until now. Unfortunately, New Bern was a good distance from Beaufort. He knew the letter would be held for him until he could come and collect it, though.

  Over the past two months he had thought constantly about the letter, wondering who had sent it. It could have been from one of his old friends who moved away years earlier. Growing up in the tavern, he had come to know several folks who had lived in Beaufort for a season or two before moving further up or down the East Coast—some of whom had sons close to his own age. Or it could have been from someone in Havana… Maybe his grandmother. Or Drake. Or even someone from Eduardo’s family.

  Depending on who sent the letter, it could either contain a pleasant surprise or very bad news. Either way he was anxious to find out what it was all about.

  When Mr. Davis finally returned from the storage room with a document in hand, he shook his head apologetically.

  “Here it is, Mr. Fletcher, but I’m afraid it’s quite damaged.”

  Adam took the envelope. The parchment looked like it had been immersed in water at some point. His name and the word Beaufort could be seen on the outside of it and the beginning of the word Rogers, but the rest of it was illegible. He knew that must’ve meant Rogers’s Shipping Company, and had that been readable the letter would’ve no doubt been sent to his grandfather’s warehouse in Beaufort.

  His tanned, calloused hands turned over the letter as he observed that the wax that would have sealed it was no longer present. It had apparently either been removed intentionally or fallen off in whatever circumstance caused the letter to be damaged.

  “What happened to it?” he asked.

  “Hmph.” Mr. Davis raised his eyebrows before responding, “A better question might be, what hasn’t happened to it? This letter was on board a vessel down somewhere in the West Indies. Got caught in a terrible storm at sea. I haven’t the foggiest idea of how it happened, but the way I heard it, they were tossed around in some violent waves. That storm ended up sinking the ship.”

  Adam’s eyebrows shot up when he heard the story. “Was this reported in the Gazette?”

  Mr. Davis nodded. “It was—but this letter didn’t arrive here until several months later. We’d gotten word about the ship’s sinking from another man from down near Charleston. We didn’t have many details, though, so there wasn’t much we could say. Since then we’ve learned a few more bits of information, but not much.”

  “How’d you end up with the letter?”

  “Another sea captain brought it here to New Bern. Apparently, your letter was on a schooner and two brigantines before it ever made it to North Carolina. It’s a miracle it got this far.”

  “So you ended up hearing more about the sunk vessel?”

  “Bits and pieces. They said somehow when it was caught in the storm, everything started breaking loose and things started crashing all over the place. ’Twas a terrible mess. Evidently, one man was even crushed to death. Another was washed right overboard.”

  “That’s awful!” Adam said. He couldn’t help but think back to his time on the Carolina Gypsy, his grandfather’s sloop, and the awful storm they weathered between Nassau and Havana. He always thought a crushing death at sea would be a terrible way to go.

  Mr. Davis nodded in agreement. “Thankfully, another ship nearby was able to come to their aid, but not before everything and everyone on board was thoroughly soaked.”

  Adam turned the envelope over again and unfolded it to take out the letter inside, but it was incomplete. There was only one long strip, which looked as though it had come from the right-most edge of a single piece of parchment.

  “Where’s the rest of it?”

  Mr. Davis shook his head. “I’m sorry to tell you but that’s all there is.”

  “Looks to me like this got more than just soaked. Most of it’s missing. How in the world could this have even happened? I mean, the envelope wasn’t even sealed.”

  “I can’t guarantee you of the specifics, but what I heard is this: your letter was in a wooden box for safe keeping in the captain’s quarters, along with some other correspondence bound for America. Its destination was Philadelphia. But when the ship hit stormy seas, everything was being tossed about, and the box was knocked into the floor. They told me the box did have a lock on it, but it made no difference. The thing was crushed and broken into pieces when a big trunk came down on top of it, sending its contents loose all over the cabin.”

  “Do you often get letters like this—or pieces of letters like this?” asked Adam. “All torn up and damaged?”

  The middle-aged man sighed, then shrugged. “Not usually, but on very rare occasion we do. In fact, there’s been a time or two when all that’s made it here is the envelope.”

  Adam cocked his eyebrow and gave Mr. Davis a skeptical look. “So I reckon you’re saying I’m lucky I at least have this much.”

  “Well, you could look at it like that. Maybe you can at least make sense of the message that’s there—figure out who sent it and write to tell them it came to you incomplete.”

  “And you say this came from a vessel down in the Caribbean?”

  Mr. Davis nodded. “Yes, sir. The captain was from Jamaica, though I’m not sure if that’s the origin of the letter.”

  Adam inhaled deeply, then exhaled in mild frustration as he folded up the long, narrow strip of letter and put it back into what was left of the envelope. “I appreciate you holding this for me. If you only knew—I’ve had this thing on my mind since I first saw the notice in your paper back in December. I finally get here, and now I can’t even tell who it’s from.” He thought for a moment, then said, “I reckon I’ll just take it with me and see if I can’t try and make some sense of what it says.”

  “I wish you success with that, young man,” said Mr. Davis.

  Adam bade him farewell and was about to leave the printing shop when Mr. Davis stopped him.

  “You know, I’m a little slow about these things at my age, but I remember you. You were in here late last year.”

  Adam turned and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “You fairly good at reading and writing?” Mr
. Davis asked.

  Adam wrinkled his brow, unsure of what that had to do with anything. “Yes, sir. Well, I reckon so.”

  “Good. I was just thinking, you’re from Carteret County. We can always use news from down your way. If you ever have anything you think might be of interest to Gazette readers, you might think about writing it up and sending it here. If it’s written halfway decent, I’ll print it. Even if it’s not, I may brush it up and run it anyway.”

  That offer came as a surprise to Adam. He never would’ve imagined the day would come when he’d write something for the papers. He’d have to think on it, though. While he stayed up on the news thanks to his work with the shipping company and his history with the tavern, he wasn’t sure he could write anything that would be of interest to the Gazette’s readership.

  “Thank you, sir,” was all he said in response. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. If anything comes up that’s interesting, I’ll see about sending something your way.”

  Mr. Davis nodded and bade him farewell, and he was on his way.

  He had come to New Bern with his fellow cooper and best friend, Martin Smith. They would stay at his cousin Will’s house for the night, then return to Beaufort the next day. It was a hard, cold trip to make in such a short time, but Will’s wife, Catherine, was expecting their first child in March and it was explained to them that she was nesting. Adam and Martin were able to ascertain that what that really meant was that she was fussing incessantly about wanting the house to be just right for the baby’s arrival and was in no mood to entertain house guests for any extended period of time. While Martin probably would’ve enjoyed an extra couple of days in the colonial capital, Adam was happy they were going straight back to Beaufort.

  That evening after supper he put the torn, narrow strip of paper on the dining room table in front of him so he could carefully read what little was there. Each sentence fragment was on the far right edge of the paper, but knowing that didn’t help much, other than to tell him that he was missing somewhere between two-thirds and three-quarters of everything that came before each fragment.

  …as. No doubt you will be

  …enough to write to you now.

  …for you to have to see me in

  …of our Almighty God that

  …report that as for that evil

  …your time in Havana have

  …has died and now all that

  …till possess at the very least

  …when she married Juan Diego

  …do evil, and do not envy

  …for his wicked deeds. I

  …to N. Carolina and expect

  …the end of September. I

  …also your mother, and of

  …us all to be face-to-face.

  That was it. There was nothing more. Adam’s belly grew tense at the words he had read. He wished he could make more sense of what was there, but it was no use.

  The letter was obviously from Havana, and he guessed it had something to do with Eduardo and someone was coming to North Carolina by the end of September. Maybe it was one of his sons, or his henchmen would be coming after Adam to exact revenge.

  * * *

  WHEN ADAM ARRIVED BACK IN Beaufort, he showed the letter to his grandfather.

  Emmanuel was visibly worried as he tried to decipher its message through his spectacles. “The part that says, ‘do evil, and do not envy’ makes no sense. It sounds like something is missing. It could be from a verse of Scripture, or maybe a proverb of some sort. Perhaps whoever wrote this letter was not making a threat but rather simply quoting something.”

  “But all of those other things?” said Adam. “I just don’t know.”

  Emmanuel turned over a couple of the pieces, presumably so he could see for himself whether there was any more written on the reverse. After he saw that nothing was there, he put his hand on Adam’s back and said, “Son, there is no way to know what this letter was meant to say or who it’s from. We know it is either from someone who is a friend or someone who is an enemy. I expect at this point all you can do is wait until summer’s end to see if anything comes of what is written here, and meanwhile, it’d be wise to pray about the matter.”

  Adam rolled his eyes. That didn’t seem very helpful to him, but nevertheless he knew his grandfather was right. What more could he do? He had no choice but to just wait until September… and hopefully the month would come and go without incident.

  Chapter Two

  Beaufort—Saturday, September 19, 1767

  ADAM LET OUT A DEEP SIGH. He dried the last couple of dishes from breakfast, then reached his hand down into the murky water of the deep kitchen basin and removed the stopper. The water rushed out through the drain at the bottom and could be heard quickly gushing straight down the pipe that went through the floor and into the warehouse below, then out through an exterior wall and onto the ground outside.

  Adam and Boaz usually split up the dish-washing duties, just as they did with the other chores around the living quarters, but Adam had been increasingly argumentative and short-tempered since late August, and Emmanuel had had enough. He told his grandson he would have to do all of the household chores, in addition to his regular work with the shipping company, through the month of September, and if his attitude didn’t improve, he’d tack on the full weight of October’s chores as well. Adam wasted no time finishing up everything else that needed to be done—sweeping and mopping the floors, dusting the furniture, and washing all of the laundry and putting it outside on the line.

  He was relieved there were only eleven days left in the month—not just because his extra workload would finally come to an end, but Lord willing he would also know whether or not anything would come of that mysterious letter.

  It just so happened on this particular day that there wasn’t much to do in the warehouse. While the Carolina Gypsy, the company’s merchant sloop, was due back any day, there was no real need for Adam to hang around. Since his chores were all done, he could have the rest of the day for pure leisure.

  He went to the Topsail Tavern to visit his mother and Valentine and to see if there was anything interesting going on. The tavern was one of the first places in town where any sort of news was discussed. Tavern patrons, many of whom were local fishermen and sailors, would bring back news from wherever they’d been—often the kinds of things that might not be reported in the paper. Really, when it came right down to it, a lot of it was just gossip, but still, hearing people talk about all different sorts of things made for an entertaining way to pass the afternoon.

  By the time he got there, it was already almost noon. The door was propped open so that the breeze could blow through. It was such a hot, humid day, the open windows weren’t enough.

  “So ol’ Emmanuel finally gave you the day off, huh?” said Valentine. The ruddy-complected tavern keeper of sixty or so years of age was sitting where he always did, behind the bar, down at the end, studying over his ledger.

  Adam kicked his feet against the cast-iron door scraper just outside the door of the tavern to knock the dirt off of his shoes. “I wish that were true,” he said, coming inside to take a seat at his favorite bar stool. “I’ve just finished about five hours’ worth of chores.”

  “Eh, hard work’s good for ya. Builds character,” said Valentine. “Besides, it’s just as well. Keeps your mind busy. You’ve wasted too damned much time thinkin about all that letter nonsense.”

  Adam tipped his head to the side and shrugged. “You won’t get any argument from me there. It’s still on my mind, though. I’ve just been thinking about it while I wash the dishes, sweep the floors, hang out the clothes, and every other blamed chore in that warehouse. The closer we get to the end of the month, the more I think about it.”

  “You think too much, you know that? That’s your problem.”

  “Fine,” said Adam. “Right now I think I’d like a pint of cider.” He stood from the stool and was about to help himself to a
glass—after all, he had lived and worked in the tavern for the first seventeen years of his life—but his mother came over at just that time and told him to sit back down, that she’d get it for him.

  “Want me to go fix you something to eat?” Mary asked.

  Adam observed his mother. The pretty thirty-seven-year-old had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and she had sweat beading around her brunette hairline. With his own dark features, Adam always thought he looked remarkably like his mama, who had him when she was only eighteen—younger than he was now, at nineteen and a half. But after he met his father in Havana the previous year, he realized his facial features were almost the spitting image of his.

  “No, thank you, Mama. Not right now. Why don’t you just sit down and rest for a few minutes. In fact, why are you even working today? Shouldn’t Jackson be here?”

  Mary nodded. “He should be, but Valentine fired him.”

  Adam’s eyes grew wide, and he let out a loud laugh. “Again?! What’d he do this time?”

  “Same damned thing as he always does,” said Valentine. “That boy talks too much and he annoys the patrons. And he annoys me. I’ve warned him to hush and just take the orders, but he always wants to chat and make suggestions. And what do you think happens when the customers don’t like the food?”

  Adam shook his head. “I already know. You end up losing money when they expect y’all to make ’em something different. How long before you tell him he can come back again?”

  “Figure I’ll give it till tomorrow. Sent him home yesterday afternoon, just before the supper crowd.”

  “Oh Lord. I’m sure you were real happy about that, weren’t you?” Adam said to Mary as she pulled him a pint of cider from the keg behind the counter.